


Moving On?

by OverwatchingYouSleep



Series: Voice Line-based Fics [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Horror Elements, Masturbation, Mild Smut, Mildly Dubious Consent, Monster Reaper | Gabriel Reyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 02:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12854385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverwatchingYouSleep/pseuds/OverwatchingYouSleep
Summary: Ever since I heard this voice line I've been in a continuous cycle of nut.Reader slowly gets over the loss of her boyfriend, Gabriel Reyes.





	Moving On?

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't posted in a while, so I pulled something from my vault for you guys. It's the first of a small collection of drabbles/fics based on voice lines, so look forward to some more of these whenever I find time to post the rest.

You missed your boyfriend. You weren't afraid to admit it.

Too many people celebrated the explosion at the Swiss headquarters. Claims that it was good for the world ran rampant, the supporters of such ideas not taking into account the hundreds of agents who lost their lives to that explosion. The families left to grieve. Like you.

Worst yet, the one you grieved was considered the "aggressor" of the entire conflict. How it hurt to be the only one standing at his grave during his ceremony, protestors standing just outside the gates to shout abuse at you for sympathizing with that corrupt terrorist. Those words never stopped stinging. They just stung a lot less now.

You had slowly, but surely, moved your life on from the fall of Overwatch. Pictures of you and Gabriel disappeared under the bed and in the closet. Your shared closet slowly became an uneven ratio, his uniforms and other clothes stored in the basement far from your sight, where you'd no longer have to deal with looking at it. As was the same with his possessions, his computer, even his pillowcase. Maybe it wasn't the healthiest method of getting over someone, but it helped you.

When you finally freed your living area from every trace of Gabriel Reyes, it was like a fresh start. You took a deep breath, the weight of 4 years' grief lifted from your lungs and expelled from your body. You repeated that a few times, truly reveling in what felt like freedom. He'd be a memory, a fond memory, but one that belonged in the past.

The revamp came with a burst of productivity, and you even went so far as to cook yourself a nice dinner and treat yourself to a warm bath before bed. Something that was well earned. You were still far from the dating world, unable to even think about taking that bold a step, but the future looked promising. You even went ahead and shaved your legs, just for the feeling of it.

"I'm still a stunner," you told yourself, running your fingers up your smooth leg before swinging it over the porcelain tub and standing up. Your figure in the mirror impressed even you, amazed what this positivity was doing for you. You had maintained your appearance over the years, but something of your old beauty had been lacking until now. Maybe the glow on your skin.

Once the bathroom was cleaned and you were in your pajamas, you turned out the light and went back to your bedroom. It was spacious, almost too much so for one person, but you combatted the emptiness with plenty of furniture you'd always wanted to buy. Niche chairs and tables, obscure wall-decorations and statues. It was a pricey coping mechanism, but it worked for you.

You flopped onto your back in the middle of your bed, staring up at the ceiling. You weren't tired yet. You had a pretty solid schedule, and you were due for sleep, but you were still riding your wave of euphoria long into the night.  You thought about trying to settle into bed anyway, until an idea crossed your mind; one that crossed your mind maybe once a year, but hadn't been indulged in a criminally long time.

_ You could just masturbate _ .

A guilty flush fell across your face. Maybe that would be taking the "newfound-drive-for-life" thing a bit too far. But you were wound up, and you needed to calm down...

It was a bit awkward, sliding your hand down over somewhere that hadn't seen your attention in years. You hadn’t felt much of an urge for it. Not something you worried about, considering you weren't interested in any other aspects of your sexual life either. You weren't sure what you were in for, but you expected it to be sensitive.

Just not  _ that _ sensitive.

"Ahh--" you slapped your hand over your own mouth, desperate to remain quiet even though you were the sole resident of your house. Something about shamelessly doing this act would be even worse to you. Your middle finger slid between your folds, brushing over your neglected clit. Your back arched high but you maintained your quiet. It was so much more  _ intense _ than you remembered.

You turned onto your side, pushing your thighs together to contained the heat that pooled there. The increased friction where you rubbed was almost enough to get you wailing, body shaking as you tried to stimulate yourself to a quick, heated orgasm.

**"Moving on?"**

That voice-- _ that fucking voice-- _ made you jump almost off the bed, scrambling to sit up and arrange your messy clothes. In the dark of the room, you couldn't see who your visitor was. Your tongue felt thick in your mouth.

"Who's there?" you forced out. You wished you had left the bathroom light on, or the door open, or literally anything. You squinted in the dark, trying to make out a figure in the darkness.

"Just a ghost." Your head snapped to the right, just barely catching a glimpse of movement in the dim light of your alarm clock. You closed your eyes, trying to get the idea in your head out. It wasn't him. It's not his voice. It can't be.

But you needed to try one more time. "The ghost of who?"

The room is quiet. You silently beg the intruder to speak one more time, just to confirm or deny the budding theory that was drilling in your brain. Logic said it was impossible. Your heart was a different matter entirely. Nothing was happening to satisfy either, so you opened your mouth again. "Who’s in my room?"

A surge of power hit you square in the chest, sending you back to the mattress with a thud. Over your coughing form, a man materialized out of the darkness, his dark hood obscuring what looked like a monstrous face. His hands were wrapped around your thighs, prying them apart to wedge his way in between them.

"Who cares about the name of a dead man?" It was him. You knew it had to be, and you were simultaneously ecstatic and horrified at the same time. He was cold, his skin was washed out and ruined, he looked more corpse than anything. The only expression of your emotions you could manage was a gasp.

"Gabriel," you said, barely able to utter the name aloud. He chuckled, and his thumb found your clit through your pants expertly. He knew your body inside and out, still.

"Apparently, you do." His other hand was under your shirt, lifting it higher and revealing your sun-deprived flesh. "You've always cared. Precious little thing."

"I-I don't understand," you said, watching his fingers pinch your nipple, teasing it rough enough to get you whimpering. He sighed and slid his finger over your clit again, basking in your twitching hips.

"I thought it was obvious," he told you, leaning down towards your ear. As if you weren't terrified enough, you caught just a glimpse of his new, horrific wreckage of a face before he buried it in your neck. "I missed you too."

"...What...are you?" you breathed. He grinned, brushing his masses of sharp teeth across your neck before whispering his answer in your ear.

"I am the Reaper."

**Author's Note:**

> I write shit that's way more brash @overwatching-you-sleep.tumblr.com


End file.
